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Shortest Honeymoon Ever

October 20, 2012

During last weekend’s gutter-clogged shoe-seeping pissdown soakfest I made the Vancouver weather forecast pack its stuff and get the fuck out of my apartment. I think we both knew that what we had wasn’t going to be a long-term thing.

People get pretty weird around this time of year. First there’s a wave of denial in which the entire population goes around shivering in summer clothes, like maybe if we don’t acknowledge fall’s existence it’ll lose heart for the business of herding the clouds into a big moist pile over our heads and turning every tree into a burlesque superstar. Then on the first rainy day everyone gets bizarrely excited, puts on the new burnt-orange sweatercape and wine-dark pants that they finally relented and bought, and writes a heartwarming Facebook status about the understated joy of a crisp fall afternoon drinking chai tea while homemade chili bubbles in the crock pot and the raindrops tap playfully on the window. I drink chai myself but I will be the first to admit that it smells–and, when milk is added, also looks–like Ozonol medicated ointment.

And pumpkin-flavoured everything, are you fucking kidding me? I would like the bakeries and cafes of the world to stop trying to convince me that pumpkins are a food. For gourd’s sake, the reason why all of these seasonal snack offerings are called “pumpkin spice” is that 20 tablespoons of cinnamon and nutmeg per square inch of pumpkin meat are required to achieve edibility. Pumpkins’ one and only purpose is to get their faces carved up on the 31st by people dressed up as Dracula and Sexy Dracula.

There is nothing romantic or philosophy-inducing about walking to work in the barely-not-dark over the crumbled disintegrating slippery corpses of leaves while clouds spit at you relentlessly from above and the crows in the trees scream at you for what you are 90% sure is absolutely no reason. Packed onto every sidewalk are one million douchebags, each of whom excavated his/her biggest umbrella from the hall closet at the first sign of rain and has been wielding it incompetently ever since. It’s a known fact that Vancouver hospitals treat 469 umbrella-related eye and groin injuries per week during the rainy seasons.

All of the warmhearted autumn attitudes (new portmanteau: autumntudes) will have disappeared by next week, and the swearing and bitching will begin in earnest as the humidity ruins our hairstyles and the rain leaks into our hearts. From October to June in Vancouver the sun is so exciting that people who have absolutely nothing to do can be seen heading outside just to stand there and experience the phenomenon of light. I have been one of those people and, against my will, I will be again. See you in July, weather forecast. It’s your own fault that you won’t get to see me as Sexy Dracula.

One Comment leave one →
  1. October 21, 2012 8:48 am

    Hey. Meaghan. I loved your rant about Vancouver rain, especially “new burnt-orange sweatercape and wine-dark pants that they finally relented and bought the other day, and writes a heartwarming Facebook status about drinking chai tea while homemade chili bubbles in the crock pot” and “For gourd’s sake”. Well done as was your Halloween costume piece too.

    Hope things are good with you. I know you’re really busy. Maybe we can meet sometime at a reading or something! Let me know if you’re ever free.

    Jennifer (That is Jennifer from TWS).

    PS. I’m taking an online Creative Writing course at Kwantlen with Jen Currin right now and really really like working with her. It’s my first poetry course and I’m enjoying it.

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